kumquat * marmalade

This morning, the woman downstairs cut down her kumquat tree… actually, her grandson – the one with the long hair – visited & cut it down.

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I wonder whether she’ll replace it with another fruit tree? I miss seeing the orange kumquats.

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The woman used to pick kumquats and say, “I’m going to make kumquat marmalade.”

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As I heard her voice drifting up through the window, through the eucalyptus leaves at dusk, I would think to myself, maybe she will write kumquat poems, too. In my mind’s eye, the poems looked like jars of kumquat marmalade sitting in a row.

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Here is a recipe for kumquat marmalade. It isn’t my neighbor’s recipe. It’s just one I found … and it doesn’t require pectin or anything semi-fancy.

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The phrase, “kumquat…kumquat…kumquat” interrupted my thoughts like a frog hiccuping in a corner of my room… or an orange kumquat with hiccups.

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I received the conference session proofs. It’s a special session panel on Transnational Feminist Spaces, but perhaps there are inklings of a Stein panel in the future, i.e. “a kumquat is a kumquat is a kumquat.”

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Now that I’ve finished hiring all very wonderful adjunct professors for our composition courses this autumn, I can focus my energies on the various conference activities.